


Two Musketeers and One Good Team

by libraryv



Series: Shots of Musketeer Adrenaline [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action, Banter, Musketeers have a night on the town, d'Art and Athos team up, romp, sword fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 03:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: d'Artagnan and Athos must fight side-by-side for the first time when they are surprised by a gang of street thieves.





	Two Musketeers and One Good Team

**Author's Note:**

> In my head canon, this would take place _very_ soon after d'Artagnan's arrival to Paris: he isn't a Musketeer yet. I love the relationship between Athos and d'Artagnan, and I love thinking about how that deep brotherhood would begin (especially with Athos' reluctance to let anyone behind that wall, and d'Art just storming cheerfully past it. Lol.)

Paris, reflected d’Artagnan, was a different kind of city than what he was used to. It was both sparkling royal society and debaucherous underbelly; both glittering courtly intrigue and dangerous scandal. The rich lived alongside poor and revolutionary mutterings could be found easily, if one knew where to look.

He was still learning how to operate in these worlds comfortably; a Musketeer must gracefully navigate them all.

Yes, he thought, bringing a bottle of wine back to the table with him, Paris was a breathtaking whirlwind of a place.

And it was crowded.

He wove through the bodies packed nearly shoulder to shoulder. He passed a table where men were flipping down cards in excitement, and past a couple in a dark corner with their hands over each other. He hastily looked the other way, slamming into another young man, who stood regaling his friends with a tale. The fellow stumbled, and wine splashed over the rim of the glass in his hand.

“Hey there! What do you think you're doing?"

“I’m sorry, monsieur, I lost my balance,” said d’Artagnan, steadying him with one hand, and feeling stupid.

“Never mind, never mind,” said the man, looking d’Artagnan up and down with delight.

“It's only a bump, after all. Let's forget it happened."

"You are very gracious," said d'Artagnan, giving a nod and a polite smile.

"And _you_ are quite delicious," returned the young man, flirtatiously.

"Er-"

D'Artagnan was aware of Porthos, Aramis and Athos, sitting at their table only a few feet away. Aramis and Porthos were smirking.

“Thank you,” said d’Artagnan, unsure of what else to say.

“No, thank _you_,” said the young man, giving d'Artagnan a wink.

D’Artagnan gave an awkward bow, then began walking back towards his table. He received a slight and playful pat on the backside, and turned to see the young man blowing him a kiss.

Porthos had dissolved into laughter, and Aramis was grinning.

“Welcome to Paris, d’Artagnan!”

A rosy hue bloomed in the young man’s tan cheeks as he hurried to sit down.

“Leave him alone,” said Athos, with a quelling look. He was in one of his moods, and sat slightly apart, hunched over his drink.

Unbothered, Aramis and Porthos snickered.

"All right," said Aramis, still beaming. "But only because he's so _delicious._"

"I could eat him up," broke in Porthos, and he and Aramis fell over each other, laughing.

Aramis sat up, still chuckling at d’Artagnan’s flaming cheeks, refilled all of their glasses, and raised his own.

"To nights in Paris!"

The toast was echoed, then d'Artagnan said,

"I'm not the total innocent you think I am, you know. I've already had a few conquests."

“Ah yes, your mystery woman with the dark hair and the enchanting feline eyes,” smiled Aramis.

Athos seemed to lift his head slightly at this, a peculiar expression on his face, but then returned to his slump, as d’Artagnan said dreamily,

“No, my heart belongs to another; she has chestnut hair and eyes so blue you could drown in them.”

Aramis raised his eyebrows.

“That was practically a poem.”

Porthos thumped d’Artagnan on the back, then leaned towards him, dark eyes playful.

“I don’ know about drownin’ in her eyes, but that lady’s been watchin’ you since we got here.”

D’Artagnan lifted his head, his interested piqued, the dreamy expression wiped clean, as Porthos hissed,

“No, don’ look right _at_ her! D’Artagnan!”

He grabbed at air as the young man stood up in a burst of eagerness.

Aramis looked up at him, skeptical.

"What will you say to her? You must have a good line ready."

D’Artagnan straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it away from his face.

"Gentlemen," he grinned at them. "You may need poetry, but I don’t."

Aramis and Porthos raised their eyebrows at each other, and watched their tall young friend swagger towards the woman in question.

"With that attitude, he'll overplay his hand," said Aramis wisely.

Porthos nodded and shrugged.

"He shoulda listened to us."

“He appears to be managing well enough without your expertise,” said Athos into his wineglass, and they turned slightly to see that d’Artagnan had the girl in the corner nearest to them.

His arms were gently around her, and her tongue was enthusiastically down his throat.

Aramis took off his hat, shook out his hair, then replaced it at a rakish angle.

“Well. I suppose our young Gascon is bound to find luck once in a while!” He stood up.

“And he has the right idea. Goodnight, brothers, I have my own romantic meeting to attend.”

He nodded to Porthos, placed a gentle hand on Athos’ slouched shoulder, and with a parting smile, strode away into the crowd.

Athos downed the last of the wine in his glass and abruptly stood.

Porthos looked at his friend, assessing him, and whatever wordless test it was, Athos passed. Porthos gave him a nod, Athos pulled the brim of his hat low, turned on his boot heel, and left without a word. 

XXXXX

Athos stepped out onto the cobblestones; the din and tumult of the public house fading slightly as the door closed behind him. He began his solitary walk through the streets, his steps falling heavy, his gait weaving slightly left. 

He was enjoying a mild sense of detachment as he walked through the streets; Paris at this hour was lively. Candlelight was still glowing in most front rooms; laughter could be heard from beyond most doors.

“Athos!”

The enthusiastic tone was impossible to mistake: Athos knew d’Artagnan was the one running up behind him before the younger man even reached him, throwing his arm around Athos’ shoulder, laughing breathlessly.

“I saw you leave; would you like company on your walk?”

Athos stared straight ahead, momentarily at a loss for words. For years, he and Aramis and Porthos had an unspoken agreement: if he was able to stand, then his walk home was solitary.

To his own annoyance, he felt himself giving a short, terse, nod.

He braced himself for sunny chatter, but d'Artagnan seemed to sense Athos preferred quiet, and they simply walked the street in companionable silence. This surprised Athos; he would not have expected such perception from the young man.

As they walked, Athos began to cautiously enjoy d’Artagnan’s presence. He looked over at the lad from underneath his hat. D’Artagnan threw him an easy smile, and Athos was caught off guard by a rather alarming surge of brotherly affection.

He covered it by looking ahead again.

They rounded a corner, turning into an alley. A warning sense borne out of years of experience had Athos on the verge of opening his mouth to say they should turn around-

Too late.

Five men came out of the shadows and surrounded them, swords drawn. Common thieves, looking to prey on drunken revelers making their way home. Desperation made them dangerous. 

Athos took a few careful steps closer.

“Good evening, gentlemen” he said, in a friendly tone, looking at each of them as they tightened their circle.

The largest of the gang stepped forward. 

“Don’ move, an’ this’ll be over quick.”

Athos could feel d’Artagnan’s coiled energy at his side. The young man had hardly been tested outside of the garrison. 

Athos’ hands were shaking slightly, but this was not the first time he had fought with alcohol running heavily through his veins; he blinked and took a breath. Then, as if his body was simply another wayward object to bend to his indomitable will, his hand steadied. He drew his sword in one fluid motion, crossing it in front of him. He felt d'Artagnan do the same, and the men looked amused.

“You gonna fight us off?”

“Obviously!” said d’Artagnan, at the same time that he moved closer to Athos’ side.

“Just the two of you? You’re just a pair of men in the wrong place,” laughed another.

“And you are just a group of thugs, so we shall see,” shot back d'Artagnan, with such heated confidence that it startled a smile onto Athos' face.

The ringleader scowled.

“Yeah, we will.”

They advanced, and Athos felt the familiar rush of heady adrenaline. Then, his sword arced up to meet the leader’s, drawing back in a second, and he twisted to the side, fighting two at once.

It only took a few moments for Athos to realize that fighting alongside d'Artagnan was a wholly different experience than training against him. D’Artagnan was still a bullet shot from its chamber, energy uncaged, but his typical impatience had morphed into a previously withheld concentration; his blade flashed, his attack was sure.

Even more surprisingly, instead of his usual reckless style, he was following Athos' lead; his blade flashing into the gaps, complementing and building onto Athos' direction.

Athos caught d’Artagnan’s wide-open grin as he twisted to the side, neatly blocking an attack and parrying back with ease.

“What was that about us just being in the wrong place?” mocked the young Gascon, breathless but fierce, as he sliced his blade sideways, cutting into the thigh of one of the men, who staggered backwards before turning and fleeing.

A few moments more, another man sent scurrying with a deep cut to his arm from Athos’ blade, and Athos realized something with a shock: he was _enjoying_ himself. 

Fighting with d’Artagnan was like being flooded with a quick-acting drug, and the lad’s natural talent was mirroring his own, making him aware, for the first time in a long while, what he was capable of. He didn’t have to hold anything back; didn’t have to think.

With each passing second, Athos was moving faster and faster; d’Artagnan was catching up and matching him blow for blow. The two of them had settled into an effortless dance; complementing each other with ease. Fighting side by side, they had turned into a lethal two-headed beast.

The last two men had fled, nursing various slashes and blows, and the ring leader gave up, throwing his hands in the air. He backed up four or five paces before turning tail and running off down the street.

Athos and d’Artagnan stood in silence, breathing hard, before d’Artagnan whipped his sword down through the air.

“Whoooo!” he cheered, throwing his head back and pacing a few steps. He shook his head, laughed in disbelief, then came up and grabbed Athos by his shoulders.

“That was incredible! I know you’re talented but that was - that was –”

He let go again, and paced around some more, releasing energy as he turned in elated circles.

Athos’ heart was pounding, and he took a slow, even breath. It was only now that he could put a name to the feeling that had taken over as they fought together: exhilaration.

He adjusted his hat and carefully slid his sword back into its scabbard as d’Artagnan continued with his exclamations.

“When you attacked on the high outside and I went for the low without saying anything? That was amazing! We didn’t even have to speak! I don’t even know what to call that!” 

He walked forward, and for the second time that night, threw his arm around Athos’ shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze, steering them both out of the alley and along the street. 

Athos felt d’Artagnan’s keen brown eyes looking at him eagerly. 

“We make a good team, don’t we?”

Athos, still surprised by just how accurate that statement was, gave him one of his rare, undiminished smiles.

“We do indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was made possible by under_my_blue_umbrella's insightful, thoughtful comments on Athos (and her proofreading!) I can't write him easily, and she's my resident go-to Athosian author.
> 
> If you feel like reading beautifully written, pitch-perfect Musketeers fics, check out her stuff.


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